


hand in unlovable hand

by donnamoss



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: 5 Times, But also, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, Cuddling & Snuggling, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Disaster Adora (She-Ra), Lesbians in Space, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Season 5 Spoilers, THAT'S RIGHT I SAID CANON LESBIAN RELATIONSHIP, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, catra character study masquerading as tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnamoss/pseuds/donnamoss
Summary: Adora is staring out into the distance, looking up at the sun, her eyes wide and guileless. Everything about Adora is guileless. She is as easy to read as a cloudless sky. Of course, they didn’t have cloudless skies, back in the Fright Zone.Adora has never faked anything in her life. Catra, a practiced liar, can’t parse exactly how, though they grew up in the same place, Adora became what she is: a hero, even without the sword.-or: 5 times they held hands after the war.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 693





	hand in unlovable hand

**Author's Note:**

> i simply could not resist. 
> 
> title from "no children" by the mountain goats (featured on noelle's Catra playlist). i promise this is at least 100x fluffier than that song, but also, WOW, these girls need some therapy and a lot of rest.

Catra never expected a happy ending.

When it came down to it, really, she hadn’t expected an ending at all. Never thought that far into the future. Never let herself. If pressed, she would have said she just imagined a war, never-ending, as long as life itself. Just her, against Adora, always.

And now Horde Prime is dead and all the Hordak clones are gone and even the fucking _Fright Zone_ has grown flowers and she is here, on the edge of the world, with Adora’s hand in hers.

She’s held Adora’s hand before. She remembers. When they were kids, play-fighting, running hand-in-hand, late to training. When they would sneak into each other’s bunks so they could sleep more soundly: Catra’s body curled into Adora’s legs, arm twisted to reach her hand. Just before Adora left the Fright Zone, when she was gaining more and more confidence and leaving Catra further and further behind. They’d spend sunset-orange evenings climbing up to the tops of buildings, Adora reaching back and extending a hand to pull Catra up behind her. Adora, ahead of her. Always ahead of her.

She is next to her, now.

They aren’t looking at each other.

Catra sneaks a glance. Adora is staring out into the distance, looking up at the sun, her eyes wide and guileless. Everything about Adora is guileless. She is as easy to read as a cloudless sky. Of course, they didn’t have cloudless skies, back in the Fright Zone.

Adora has never faked anything in her life. Catra, a practiced liar, can’t parse exactly how, though they grew up in the same place, Adora became what she is: a hero, even without the sword.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Catra realizes that her glance is turning into a gaze. Maybe a stare if she’s being honest. Adora’s hair is a mess, the top swoop almost completely fallen to the side, and her mouth is a little open. Catra has no idea what she is thinking.

Adora turns her head, looks directly at Catra.

Catra looks away.

Then pauses, breathes, looks back. Forces herself to ask: “What are you thinking?”

She’s experimenting with honesty these days. With not lashing out. With holding people’s gazes. She holds Adora’s now.

Adora squeezes her hand. Her expression changes, becomes more thoughtful. “I don’t know.” She shrugs a little. “I just can’t believe—we got here. I can’t believe this… this is real.” She sweeps a hand toward the world beneath them, the flowers and plains and golden late-afternoon sun of it all. She twists her mouth ruefully, then, tilting her head back toward Catra. “It is real, right?”

“Yeah,” Catra breathes. “It is.”

“I never thought…” Adora trails off. Then, incredibly—because everything that’s happened today is incredible; everything Adora does is always incredible—she drops Catra’s hand and reaches up to cup her cheeks instead.

Catra can really feel her cheeks. They are—present. Adora’s hands are warm on her skin, and she is burning.

Adora smiles, then, so bright. “I never thought I’d be able to have this.”

She knows they’re supposed to be, like, emotionally healthy and mature these days, and probably talk it out some more, but Catra can’t resist. She doesn’t think at all. She just touches Adora’s waist and uses her other hand to tilt Adora’s head slightly, and Adora is still smiling when Catra kisses her, and she’s still smiling minutes later when Catra lets go.

“Yeah,” Adora says inanely. “That. This. You—you.”

“ _You_ ,” Catra says, “are such an idiot.”

And smiles.

-

The end of the world is the beginning of another. The only home Catra has ever known is broken, empty, and now covered in neon green grass. So she doesn’t really have a choice in the matter: she follows Adora back to Bright Moon.

She’d follow Adora anywhere, but also, did it have to be _here_?

She is given a bedroom in the north wing of the castle. (A _bed_ room—a whole room for a bed! What _is_ this place?) Glimmer’s really proud of it. She disappeared right when they got back to the city—literally disappeared, left Catra and Adora and Bow and the rest of the princesses in the outskirts of town, forced to trudge the winding road up to the front of the castle. When she reappears what seems like hours later, she drags Catra away from the other princesses and guides her through mazelike hallways, Adora and Melog following even though they weren’t asked to.

“I designed this for you!” Glimmer chirps, throwing open a door.

The room is cat-themed. A cat-shaped desk along one wall, with a chair slotting into the empty space created by the cat’s arched back. A huge wardrobe designed to look like a cat’s face. An enormous pile of fluffy pillows in the center of the room, atop a circular bed with triangular ears. The ear portions of the bed have feathery tufts of fabric sticking out.

Adora stifles a laugh.

“Oh, wow,” Catra says, belatedly. “This is… wow.”

Glimmer preens. “I know! Thank you!” She skips over to the bed and collapses on it head-first. She flops over to lay spread-eagle and grins at Catra, Adora, and Melog. “Isn’t it great!”

Melog follows her and rests their head against a fluffy pillow.

Catra stares at the floor-to-ceiling windows, which boast huge paper letters reading _Welcome, Catra!!!!_ with four exclamation points. Her breath catches. Welcome, Catra.

She swallows and turns away to the weird body of water in the corner. “Is that… a waterfall? Inside?”

“Of course! Also, I didn’t have time to do this just now, but I thought we could do, like, a mural of Melog on that wall,” Glimmer says, pointing. “Wouldn’t that be cute?” She pets Melog behind the ears and coos, “You’d be so cute on the wall! A star! A perfect little magical star!” Melog purrs.

Catra is still confused by the waterfall.

“Thank you, Glimmer,” Adora says, but it sounds more like a prompt.

Catra clears her throat. “Yes, wow, it’s very. Very… bright.”

Adora rolls her eyes.

Glimmer is appeased. “Great! Well, we can redesign however you want, of course, I just thought this would be fun! But you let me know if you want anything else—”

“We should let Catra get settled in, probably,” Adora cuts in.

“Oh, yeah. I have to show everyone else around anyway. But dinner in like an hour and a half, okay? I’m hungry. Adora, you coming?” Glimmer’s already totally out of the room, but she pops her head back in to look expectantly at Adora.

“I’ll catch up with you in a few,” Adora says.

“Ohhhh,” Glimmer says, her expression shifting into a knowing smile. “Okay, okay!” She winks. “See you later!”

The door slams behind her. Catra lets her face drop.

“What in fresh hell is this.”

Adora’s already laughing. “Your _face_! Catra!”

“You aren’t answering my question and it requires answering.”

But Adora’s still laughing too hard. She leans back against the door: casual, comfortable. Her knee juts out. She has nice knees, Catra thinks; forces herself to stop thinking; relaxes and thinks again. They really are very nice. Nicer than Adora’s annoying beautiful mocking face.

“She’s making fun of me,” Catra says to Melog. Melog meows in agreement and curls up on the bed, yawning and immediately falling asleep.

The room, as she said, is bright. Not in color. The colors are pretty muted, actually, for Glimmer—mostly a burnt orange and creamy off-white, some maroon accents. But the walls are almost entirely windows. There are sun patches _everywhere_. Just looking around makes Catra sleepy. The _Welcome, Catra!!!!_ letters on the main window are casting weird angled shadows onto the ground. The shadowed words are backwards and hard to read. Catra can’t stop looking at them.

“I love Glimmer,” Adora says.

“Does she know I don’t actually _like_ cats that much? Is she messing with me?”

“She’s just being cute.” Adora’s laughter is finally subsiding. She pushes away from the door and runs a hand through her ponytail, shaking it out. “Also, it doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Really,” Catra says blandly.

“Well, yeah, I mean.” Her voice is very casual. She makes one jerky motion with her shoulder. “I figured you’d bunk with me.”

Everything inside Catra sharpens like the knife point of a blade. This, she knows how to handle. She watches Adora silently for a moment. Adora’s hand still lingers uncomfortably near her ponytail, her posture uneven and ready to shrug it off, her eyes waveringly on Catra—but on Catra all the same.

Catra lets the moment stretch out longer, two more seconds, three. Then she smirks, slow, easy. “Oh, is that what you figured?”

Adora blushes, all pink and gold. “Well, uh, you know… I just thought…”

Catra waits. Her smirk is deep but not edged, teasing rather than harsh. She isn’t sure where this gentle smirk came from, but she’s started to perfect it recently.

“We used to bunk together in the Fright Zone sometimes,” Adora finishes lamely.

“We did,” Catra agrees. “So nothing’s changed, then?”

“Everything’s changed.”

Has it? Catra’s hair is short, now. She is on the side of the princesses she once fought. She has a deep, blistering scar on the back of her neck, left over from the chip Horde Prime seared into her body. She can feel it tug her skin when she turns her head too quickly.

It’s healing.

It still hurts.

“I loved you then, too,” Catra says quietly. Adora’s lips part, her eyebrows raising a little. “Not everything has changed.”

Adora bites her lip. “No,” she says. “Not everything.” She holds out her hand, arm fully extended. Her nails are short and bitten like they’ve always been. “Come with me.” She tilts her head toward the door. “My bed is way better than this one.”

Catra takes Adora’s hand and follows her.

-

Before long, Catra is invited to princess meetings, which is completely absurd, as she is patently _not_ a princess, not even close, not even on her good days. But Glimmer insists.

“ _You saved the world_ ,” she says, emphasis on every single word, which should be impossible, but if anyone can manage it, it’s Glimmer.

“Uh, I definitely did _not_. Adora saved the world.”

Glimmer’s not convinced. “Sure, but your _love_ saved Adora.” Adora nods in the background of this argument, smiling wide. She is so annoying. Catra loves her so much. “The power of your love saved the world.”

“That’s disgusting,” Catra says. “Don’t talk about me like that.”

“The power of your love restored magic to all of Etheria _and_ took down an intergalactic villain of pure evil.”

“That does _not_ make me sound cool!”

Adora pipes up, “Love is very cool!”

Catra groans and groans, but she concedes and goes to the meetings, which are way too long and often boring, even if they are entirely populated by her— _sigh_ —friends. She always sits next to Adora, who pays close attention no matter how many times Catra flicks her tail against her feet, or her knees, or sometimes her chin. Adora just bats her away.

Sometimes, Adora holds her hand instead. She does it unthinkingly. Catra knows it’s unthinking because Adora’s usually in the middle of a debate when she takes her hand, gently, quietly, like it’s an extension of her own. The first meeting Catra attended, Bow noticed Adora reach for her, and he grinned so hard at them that his eye started twitching. _So cute_ , he stage-mouthed to Mermista, the words huge and exaggerated. Catra hissed at him but didn’t let go of Adora’s hand.

Nobody is grinning today. Today, they are fighting. Adora is trying to propose a recon mission to the Fright Zone to look for remaining members of the Horde and offer them amnesty in Bright Moon, and everyone else is mad.

Well, not Catra. Catra is just tired.

“Absolutely not,” Bow is saying, while Glimmer yells over him, “ _Hell_ no!” Even Perfuma is shaking her head pretty viciously.

“You just saved the world, like, last week,” Mermista deadpans. “Take a load off, dude.”

“ _Guys_ ,” Adora groans. “It’s a mission. To the Fright Zone. To talk to the Horde and get Force Captains on our side. I was literally raised for this.” She frowns. “Also, I’m She-Ra. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

She is holding Catra’s hand now, too. Catra’s hand rests palm-down on the table, and Adora has hers atop Catra’s. Occasionally, Catra finds herself tap-tapping her claws against the polished opal surface. Adora’s hand moves along with hers.

“It’s not about whether you can handle it,” Perfuma says, reasonably. “Of course, you can handle it. But let Scorpia lead the mission. You’ve been through a lot. And Mermista is right. The Heart of Etheria was only a week ago.”

“It was longer than that,” Adora mutters.

Which it was. It was twelve days ago. Catra’s been counting.

Adora’s thumb rubs against Catra’s wrist, smoothly, carefully. Catra watches it go, back and forth, back and forth. Her hand shivers slightly. She looks up at Adora, who looks back at her.

“What if we all go,” Scorpia says.

“ _Everyone_?” Entrapta juts her chin out. Her hair juts along with it. “That’s not at all efficient.”

“Not everyone-everyone. Catra, me, and Adora.” Catra stops tap-tapping and starts listening. Scorpia has captured the whole table’s attention with this proposal. “Once a Force Captain, always a Force Captain, right? And they’re probably more likely to listen to me and Catra than Adora.”

Adora scoffs and then makes a resigned _hmph_ noise. “Okay, I guess that’s true.”

“So just Catra and Scorpia go, then,” Glimmer says.

“Um, hello? I did not volunteer for this.” Catra shoots a general scowl to the entire room, but especially to Scorpia and Glimmer. “Who said I wanted to go?” Her ears flick restlessly against her head.

“Old stomping grounds!” Scorpia says. “Could be fun. See some old friends.”

“You’re not going without me! She-Ra would definitely be helpful!”

“Are you guys listening to yourselves? What is this _amnesty_ bullshit?” Catra throws both hands into the air. “You’re not prosecuting anyone for war crimes! There’s no need for amnesty.”

“Okay, sorry I wasn’t trained in _diplomacy_ ,” Adora cuts in, “but you know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t. What makes you think the Horde will want to come here, anyway?”

“Of course they’ll wanna come! Why would they want to stay _there_? Alone?”

“This is so typical!” Only now does Catra notice Adora is no longer stroking her thumb against her pulse point, because Adora is no longer holding her hand, because Catra has pulled away, like always. But she keeps going, because what else can she do? She’s already begun. “Not everyone wants what you want, Adora! Just because you saved the world doesn’t mean they _trust_ you all of a sudden. How much you wanna bet they’ll think it’s condescending, you offering them table scraps like that?” Catra realizes, with a start, that she’s angry. Angry at Adora.

“It’s not table scraps,” Adora says. Her voice is surprised, and a little wounded. “It’s allyship. It’s—it’s a second chance.”

The anger is such a familiar feeling, like wildfire in her chest, and it’s impossible not to let it seep into her voice. “Why are you the one doling out second chances? Who gave you that right?”

“I’m not!” Now Adora’s voice definitely sounds hurt. “I just think it’s worth trying! If the outcome is maybe someone finds a home they didn’t have before, then it’s worth the risk of making them mad.” She takes a sharp breath in. She’s looking directly at Catra, eyes wide. “Are _you_ mad?”

Catra reels back, opening her mouth to say something. Adora _would_ ask her point-blank, in the middle of a princess meeting with ten other people around, if she was mad at her. Zero tact. Classic Adora. Catra closes her mouth.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Glimmer cuts in. “I do think it’s a good idea to have Scorpia on the mission, but let’s take a breath and we can come back to it after we’ve all thought about it some more. Obviously, we don’t want to estrange anyone, and we definitely don’t want to strain political relationships that don’t even exist yet.” She rubs her forehead, right where her little moonstone jewel sits, and sighs. “I’ll talk to Dad and Aunt Casta tonight, okay? Maybe they can come to the meeting tomorrow. Now, Mermista, you mentioned this earlier—can you tell us more about the trade policy situation in Seaworthy now that there’s magic everywhere?”

Catra sits there, silently, for the rest of the meeting. At the end, she gets up and walks to her room in the north wing, the one she hasn’t slept even one night in. Adora follows her.

“Are you mad at me?” Adora says, in the hallway, trailing after Catra.

“No,” she snaps.

“Catra—”

“A little. You’re _annoying_.” She doesn’t feel that mad, anymore. Just tired.

“Did you forget that?” Adora has to scramble to keep up with her.

“I could never forget that.” They reach Catra’s room; she opens the door and holds her arm out with a flourish and a dramatic bow, ushering Adora in. Adora frowns and pulls Catra in after her. The door closes heavy and slow—it’s too big to slam properly. Catra wants to slam something. Instead, she turns on her heel and sits down on the marble floor, directly in the middle of a sunspot. She hugs her legs with both hands and shields her face between her knees for just a moment, and then she tilts her neck up and looks at Adora.

Adora sighs, long and deep, walking over to sit beside Catra in the sun. She reaches a tentative hand out to cover Catra’s, balanced on her knee. Adora’s fingers are long and big, and calloused even though she does most of her fighting as She-Ra. They catch slightly on the furred back of Catra’s hand.

“Do you…” Adora whispers, eyes on their joined hands. “Do you not want to be here?”

“What? No!” Is she _stupid_? Catra flips her hand over so they’re clasping palms instead. “I do.”

Adora’s voice is very serious. “I don’t want you to feel like that,” she says firmly. “Not ever. That was never my intent, what you said, about table scraps. I didn’t mean it like that.”

And that’s clear, isn’t it? Every time Adora has hurt Catra in the past, it has never been her intent. Catra has tried, time and time again, to hurt Adora back, and every time it was on purpose. But Adora isn’t like that. Adora never means to hurt people. To hurt Catra. Adora just says exactly what she thinks, even if it comes out wrong, even if it reveals something too true and too sad for a public princess meeting: even now, after the end of the world, she has the power to slice directly to Catra’s heart.

“I know, Adora,” she says now. “I was just… mad.”

But Adora’s still going, her voice quiet and low and so, so earnest. “I didn’t want to make it seem like it had to be just, follow me wherever I go. That’s not what I meant just now, and that’s not what I meant after the Heart, either. When we decided to come here. I didn’t mean, like… this is the plan, this is what we do now, because I’m She-Ra and I said so, and because we kissed you have to come with me.”

Catra squeezes her hand. “Adora, come on. My place is with you.”

“ _No_ ,” Adora says, and Catra’s heart seizes in her chest. Adora smooths her hand over Catra’s, reaching with the other to touch Catra’s jaw. “Don’t you get it?” Her eyes are so big and so gray and so beautiful. She’s so beautiful. It pisses Catra off. “Our place is _together_. I don’t make the calls. We’re a team. You and me.”

_You and me._

“Oh,” Catra says dumbly. “Well—yeah, I know.”

“I love you,” Adora says, her hold on Catra’s hand tightening.

Catra closes her eyes, leans her face into Adora’s hand. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I know.”

Adora is quiet for a long minute, until Catra opens her eyes and sees Adora looking at her with a funny, fond smile on her face, and Catra blushes hugely.

“You know I love you too,” she mumbles. “I’m the one who said it first.”

“And your love saved the world,” Adora reminds her. She isn’t teasing at all. “I didn’t save the world. We did, together.”

“Ugh,” Catra says. “ _Fine_.”

Adora twists her mouth a little. “Do you really think it’s a bad idea to reach out to the Horde?”

Despite herself, Catra laughs a little. “No, I think it’s a good idea. Like you said. I think it’s worth giving them the chance.” She draws in a long breath and lets it out quickly in an audible, anxious gust of air. “I just think you shouldn’t be offended if they say no. Not everyone wants what you want.”

Adora looks pained at that, but she doesn’t argue.

“And I think it should be Scorpia’s mission,” Catra adds, while she’s at it.

“You think I should sit it out entirely?”

“No—unfortunately, even after you left, you still had your fans. But you’re… divisive. Scorpia is good at bringing people together. She’s like Glimmer that way.”

Adora studies her for a moment and then breaks into a genuine smile. “Sometimes I forget you like Glimmer now. It’s so cute.”

Catra grumbles. “She’s all right, I guess.”

“You’re _friends_.”

“Well, you’ve always had good taste in friends.”

Adora leans in close enough that her nose brushes against Catra’s. “Not just friends.”

They sit there, on the sun-soaked marble floor, holding hands, until Catra falls asleep, curled in a perfect circle, tail wrapped around herself, clutching Adora’s hand to her heart. The _Welcome, Catra!!!!_ letters dapple across her skin.

-

They get invited to an enormous Yay the War’s Over! party in Mystacor. Catra doesn’t want to go.

Last time they were in Mystacor, Adora sacrificed herself to get the failsafe, and Catra ran away from her, certain they’d never see each other again.

Last time they were at a party, Catra dipped Adora low enough that her ponytail brushed the floor, and then she promptly kidnapped her best friends.

So they don’t have a great track record.

Catra puts up a fight for, like, five minutes, but nobody else is on her side:

“It’s a political necessity,” Glimmer says.

“There will be _so much food_ ,” Bow says.

“I’m making a new dress entirely out of flowers!” Perfuma sings.

“It could be fun,” Adora says. So they’re going.

Glimmer has the Bright Moon tailors wrapped around her little finger, and she convinces everyone to meet with them. Adora’s the hardest sell, actually—Catra’s never seen her show any interest in fashion. She’s been wearing that torn red jacket for years. The tailors give Adora a few options, but she puts off deciding until the evening of.

“This is way too flashy,” Adora says to her reflection in the mirror. Privately, Catra agrees: she’s in a long, sparkly gold dress, skintight, with a wide slit at her thigh. It’s very much not Adora. “How would you fight in this? Or dance? Also, what the hell are these?” She points at a pair of sparkly shoes, laying toppled over on the floor.

“Those are heels,” Glimmer says. “They make you taller.”

“If I want to be taller I can just become She-Ra.”

“Well,” Glimmer says primly, “not all of us have that privilege, Adora.”

Catra, already dressed, cracks up.

“This isn’t fair,” Adora whines, glaring at her in the mirror. “You look good in everything.”

“You wanna swap?” Catra offers, from her spot leaning lopsided against the wall. She wouldn’t be caught dead in that gold monstrosity. She’s already ready for the party, dressed in the best suit she’s ever seen: full black velvet, with gold accents on the lapel. She’s in love with it. She wants to wear it every day. “I can probably make that work for me.”

“The annoying thing is that you _would_ ,” Adora says. “Ugh, go away, you’re making me nervous. Glimmer, what about…”

Catra leaves and doesn’t see Adora until much later, when they’re on their way to Mystacor. Adora’s wearing an all-white full-body jumpsuit, sleeveless and tight in the bodice. Her hair is loose, the two tendrils closest to her face tied up in a tiny intricate braid behind her head. She’s also wearing her She-Ra boots, which still have some dirt on them, and maybe blood.

“New shoes?” Catra says, as they’re entering the enormous sparkling ballroom.

“Newer than yours,” Adora retorts. Catra is, of course, not wearing shoes. She hip-checks Adora in response.

It turns out that everyone was right. The food is delicious and overflowing. Perfuma’s dress really is just entirely flowers, at which Scorpia keeps staring and blushing. Glimmer dances with every single princess and appears to discuss politics, gossip, and the weather with each one. And Adora’s right too: it is kind of fun.

Catra’s refilling her drink and half-watching as a very drunk Mermista whirls Adora around the dance floor when she hears a voice from behind her. “So you and She-Ra, huh?”

It’s Huntara, self-proclaimed Princess of the Crimson Waste. She’s just wearing her normal outfit, Horde boots and cropped tank and very tight shorts. Her hair is slicked back in a tight bun, though. Catra raises an eyebrow at her. “You know how the Horde works,” she says. “Brings people together, right? Really fosters love at a young age.”

Huntara smirks. Catra recognizes the precise look from the sheer amount of times she’s worn it on her own face.

“You make a cute couple,” Huntara says.

“That’s me,” Catra agrees. “The cutest.”

“Hey, Huntara!” Adora’s bounding over, rising on tiptoe to throw a huge hug around Huntara’s shoulders. Her hair is coming apart from the braid and wisping around her face. “You look great! It’s so good to see you! Hey, do you want to dance?” This last part, Catra realizes after a moment, is directed at her, even though Adora’s still hanging off Huntara’s enormous bicep.

“Why don’t you two dance,” she says smoothly.

Adora just laughs. “Um, no, I wanna dance with my girlfriend. C’mon!”

Tossing a what-can-you-do shrug at Huntara, Catra allows Adora to pull her to the dance floor. The music changes to something sweet and slow, an old ballad about the beauties of Etheria. Adora puts one hand on Catra’s waist, shoves the other into Catra’s own hand, and sweeps her into a dramatic waltz.

“You’ve been practicing, since last prom,” Catra says, impressed despite herself.

“Queen Angella gave me princess lessons, before…” She trails off, awkwardly, and clears her throat. “Most of them didn’t stick, but dancing is kind of like training. You know. All physical.”

Adora is beautiful like this, in her pure white jumpsuit, guiding Catra around the dance floor, the softest smile on her lips. The white of the suit gleams against the crystalline chandeliers. Her hair is like honey and wheat and all good things growing in the wild.

Catra’s hair is just barely starting to grow out now, thick and unkempt like it used to be. She can feel the ends whisper against the back of her neck. She doesn’t touch her scar, but she thinks about it. Her fingers twitch with the wanting. Instead, she shoves her hair behind her ear, and Adora’s eyes follow the movement.

“Your hair looks cute,” Adora says.

Catra scowls. “Why does everyone keep _insisting_ on calling me cute?”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Adora blushes, the pink traveling in a fascinating trajectory down her throat. “You look… you look pretty. That’s what I meant.”

“Oh.” Catra adjusts the collar of her suit jacket. “I do?”

“You’re so pretty,” Adora says earnestly, with her perfect face and perfect blonde hair. “You’re the prettiest person I know.”

Even now, after they’ve saved the world together, after they’ve kissed countless times, after they’ve spent every night lying awake next to each other, whispering in the star-twinkling dark of Adora’s room—even now, Catra is caught off guard. “I’m n—” She swallows the denial, forces it tight and small inside in her chest. She isn’t used to having good things—not just having them, but holding them in her hands and knowing they’ll be there even after she looks away.

She isn’t used to keeping them.

“You too,” she says instead. “Nobody’s pretty like you.”

Adora just smiles. “Well, I _am_ a nine-foot-tall mythical warrior princess.”

“No,” Catra says, too surprised to joke back. “Not She-Ra. You, Adora.”

Adora blushes again. “You know,” she says, “I used to think about this, sometimes.” She’s still spinning them around in wide, easy circles. Her hand in Catra’s is confident and sure.

“Dancing?”

“No. Well, sort of. Being happy.” She twirls Catra, then, suddenly, her hand lifting Catra’s in the air and twisting in her grasp. She pulls her in tight. Even when Adora’s not She-Ra, she’s tall enough that her face has to tilt down to look Catra in the eye. Catra’s starting to get used to that feeling, looking up at Adora in close quarters, the stretch of her throat as they lock eyes. “With you, I mean. Being happy, together. Even after I… after I left, and after we started fighting, I thought—or I wished, anyway.” Her thumb rubs distractingly over Catra’s knuckles. “That maybe one day, at the end of it all, we could be happy.”

“I never thought about an end,” Catra admits. “I just… I just wanted you anyway.”

“Well, congratulations,” Adora says, and smirks. “You’ve got me.”

-

But of course this isn’t the end, after all.

A month after they kissed at the Heart, they set off on Mara’s ship. It’s the same crew that took to space before: Entrapta, Bow, Glimmer, Adora, Catra, and Melog. Also, Sea Hawk.

“I’m a captain. I know everything there is to know about ships! And adventure!”

“This is my ship,” Entrapta grumbles.

“It’s _Mara_ ’s ship,” Adora corrects them.

From the captain’s seat, where she lays sprawled with one leg dangling over the chair’s arm, Catra drawls, “Maybe, but Mara isn’t here.”

It’s supposed to be a quick mission, to a forest planet Wrong Hordak has told Entrapta about. The trip doesn’t take long, just a couple nights’ sleep on the ship. Catra doesn’t always sleep soundly, but being in space helps, for whatever reason. She doesn’t even really dream in space, and when she does it’s just of the future.

The day they land on the planet, they wake up back-to-back, Catra mostly curled into the hollow made by Adora’s knees. Catra wakes first, yawning, and peels herself up with a big stretch. She rolls over directly on top of Adora, who murmurs sleepily. Catra sticks her tongue out and licks Adora’s nose. “Hey, Adora.”

Adora blinks. “Mm, hey,” she mumbles.

“I’m hungry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Let’s get something to eat.”

Adora cuddles further into the thin blanket, pulling Catra with her. “Hmm, no.”

Catra kisses her then, mouth fitting carefully against Adora’s, lazy and slow. Adora kisses her back, making little rumbly noises of annoyance whenever their lips aren’t touching. Back in the Fright Zone, Adora was always up first. Now that the war is over, Catra has realized, Adora loves to lay in bed after waking up—sometimes just lounging, sometimes falling back asleep, always within reach of Catra. They have complementary values when it comes to mornings. Adora values the freedom of being able to sleep in. Catra values making out with her girlfriend while Adora’s still unfocused enough to pay attention to only her. No responsibilities: just them, cocooned together in this twin bed, floating in the middle of space.

Adora sighs, moving one knee so Catra can fit more precisely between her legs. Adora is soft like this, in bed: pliant like she rarely is in real life. In real life, Adora is stubborn, and headstrong, and always moving. Perpetually honed and prepared like a sword in its sheath. Here, she is Adora stripped to parts, the purest version of herself—as earnest as ever but freer, more malleable. Not a sword at all. Just a girl, gasping, beneath Catra.

Catra takes Adora’s hand, brings her arm up over her head, and holds it down, by the wrist. She can feel Adora’s heart beat there, quicker than normal. She bites her neck, lingering, and then licks the mark that will form. “Adora,” she says.

“Yeah?” Adora’s eyes are closed. She’s almost smiling. Her voice is feathery-soft.

Catra kisses her again. “Adora.”

“Catra—”

With a sharp bite to Adora’s lower lip, Catra pulls away. She stands up, stretches, and holds out a hand. “I told you, I’m starving. C’mon.”

Adora, outraged, gives her shit for the rest of the day: during breakfast, after they shower and get dressed, even while Entrapta’s guiding the ship down to the forest planet.

“She wakes me up so early and then she ditches me to _cook_. Ditches me for waffles!” Adora tells Bow and Glimmer, who look unimpressed.

“I know, Adora. You’ve mentioned. And we all ate the waffles.”

“I know. They were good waffles. But that’s not the point!”

Entrapta’s ponytails flick over and cover their mouths. “I am concentrating,” she says irritably, her hands soaring across the ship’s control panel. “Can this wait?”

“Probably not,” Catra says, perched on the arm of Entrapta’s chair, watching the planet get closer. It’s so green, even from here. “Adora’s obsessed with me.”

Adora’s still squawking when they land, and when they pull on their spacesuits, and when Sea Hawk pulls the lever to open the enormous freight doors. She shuts up as soon as the door is open.

They’ve landed on a steep meadowed slope, so they can see for a long distance downhill. The sky is yellow-pink-orange, like sunrise, like the moments just after dawn, when everything is possible. The planet is overgrown with trees, but none of them look like trees on Etheria. These trees are erupting from one another: branches braiding and twisting to form entire buildings, ledges, overlooks, skyscrapers. An organic city.

It looks, Catra thinks, like the Fright Zone might have, in another life. But then, this is another life.

Melog wraps their body around Catra’s legs and meows. She looks down at them. Smiles.

“Oh, cool!” Entrapta emerges from the ship first, testing the springy ground. “Ooh, bouncy. The gravity’s different, just like Wrongie said. A whole forest ecosystem! Look at that moss! Oh, I can’t wait to study this!”

Carefully, the rest of the team walks out onto the planet. Catra’s the last to leave the ship, and before she does, she takes a minute to look around at her friends. Sea Hawk is gesturing to Entrapta, pointing at a tree lighthouse near the edge of the meadow. Adora kneels on the grass, showing Melog a miniature lilac bush, brushing errant flowers from their fur. Bow and Glimmer laugh and laugh at the feeling of the lesser gravity, bouncing slightly against the mossy ground.

Catra steps into a new world.

She’s never felt lighter in her entire life.

She walks ahead, starting down the slope, toward the path to the forest city. She turns her head back to the ship. Everyone’s following her, but Adora is the closest. She takes Adora’s hand, interlaces their fingers. Adora squeezes her hand.

“Daylight’s wasting,” Catra says. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> catradora canon babyyyyyy! let's all cry together


End file.
